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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #hi
It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day- A sunny day with the leaves just turning, The touch-lines new-ruled - since I watched you play Your first game of fotball, then, like a satellite Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away Behind a scatter of boys. I can see You walking away from me towards the school with the pathos of a half-fledged thing set free Into a wilderness, the gait of one Who finds no path where the path should be. That hesitant figure, eddying away Like a winged seed loosened from its parent stem, Has something I never quite grasp to convey About nature's give-and-take - the small, the scorching Ordeals which fire one's irresolute clay. I had worse partings, but none that so Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly Saying what God alone could perfectly show- How selfhood begins with a walking away, And love proved in the letting go. ↗
#growing-up #love #parenthood #love
It was about how men walk into a forest afraid because they know all the things that can happen. They might wake the noisy birds and cause chaos. But kids come into the trees and see the magic. They climb them and see stars that the men were too afraid to see. ↗
Jorden tilhører ikke mennesket. Det er menneskene, der tilhører Jorden. De duftende blomster er vore søstre, og hesten, den mægtige ørn, for ikke at tale om elgen, er vore brødre. Og hvordan kan man købe eller sælge noget som helst? For hvem ejer varmen i luften eller lyden af vinden i træerne? Og saften i grenene bærer erindringen om dem, der har levet før os. Og lyden af bækkens mumlen er er vores forfaders stemme. Og vi må lære vores børn, at jorden under deres fødder er forfædrenes akse, og at alt, hvad der overgår Jorden også overgår os, og hvis mennesket spytter på jorden, spytter det på sig selv. ↗
#love #nature #philosophy #respect #symbiosis
By journey's end the brides were much better acquainted with their grooms and more or less pleased with the matches. Sybil Bingham wrote in her diary, thanking God for answering her prayer for filling "the void" with a husband like Hiram, a "treasure rich and undeserved." Having read his insufferable memoir, "A Residence of Twenty-one Years in the Sandwich Islands", all I can say is: I'm happy for her? ↗
It is the obvious which is so difficult to see most of the time. People say 'It's as plain as the nose on your face.' But how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you? ↗
Sniegam ir piecas pamatpazīmes. Tas ir balts. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tas ir slidens. Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Kad Juko par to ieminējās tēvam, viņš tajā saskatīja tikai negatīvo, it kā dēla dīvainā kaisle uz sniegu viņa acīs ziemas sezonu padarītu vēl biedējošāku. -Tas ir balts. Tātad neredzams un nav pelnījis būt redzams. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Lepnais. Kas viņš tāds ir, lai apgalvotu, ka spēj sastindzināt pasauli? Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tātad tas nav uzticams. Tas ir slidens. Kurš gan gūst baudu, paslīdot sniegā? Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Lai vairāk mūs appludinātu atkušņu laikā. Bet Juko savā sabiedrotajā saskatīja piecas citas īpašības, kas pilnībā apmierināja viņa māksliniecisko talantu. -Tas ir balts. Tātad sniegs ir dzeja. Neizsakāmas tīrības dzeja. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Tātad sniegs ir glezna. Vissmalkākā ziemas glezna. Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tātad sniegs ir kaligrāfija. Ir desmittūkstoš veidu, kā uzrakstīt vārdu sniegs. Tas ir slidens. Tātad sniegs ir deja. Uz sniega ikviens var sajusties kā virves dejotājs. Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Tātad sniegs ir mūzika. Pavasarī tas pārvērš upes un strautus baltu nošu simfonijās. -Sniegs Tev nozīmē to visu? - jautāja priesteris. -Vēl vairāk. ↗
#everything #love #snow #love
At all times and in all places, in season and out of season, time is now and England, place is now and England; past and present inter-penetrate. The best days an angler spends upon his river – the river which is Heraclitus’ river, which is never the same as the angler is never the same, yet is the same always – are those he recollects in tranquillity, as wintry weather lashes the land without, and he, snug and warm, ties new patterns of dry-fly, and remembers the leaf-dapple upon clear water and the play of light and the eternal dance of ranunculus in the chalk-stream. A cricket match between two riotously inexpert village Second XIs is no less an instance of timeless, of time caught in ritual within an emerald Arcadia, than is a Test at Lord’s, and we who love the greatest of games know that we do indeed catch a fleeting glimpse of a spectral twelfth man on every pitch, for in each re-enactment of the mystery there is the cumulation of all that has gone before and shall come after. Et ego in Arcadia. ↗
